The Bottle and The Badge
by sofear42
Summary: Was originally going to be a Vetinari and Vimes pairing fic, not sure where i'm going with that, but i figured that it would never happen in a world where Sybil existed so she's basically been cut out of the story. It was Vetinari and the watch that got Vimes off the booze instead, but pretty much everything else is the same. Set post Thud or sometime in Snuff.
1. Chapter 1

The man lay cradled in his dank and rancid gutter, staring glassily upwards while his brain slowly melted into a melancholy puddle of synapses and twitching nerves. The sky was bright with the smoggy cheerfulness and vague warmth of an early Morporkian afternoon, and His Grace Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, was very much drunk.

Captain Angua von Überwald was not having a good day. First, she'd had the bad luck to be assigned the nob's quarter for patrol. Even the Shades would've been better. She, and the undead in general, had come to a wary arrangement with the darker heart of the city. Namely, the people kept their distance and didn't try anything funny with silver bullets or garlic and the like, and in return, remained -in the more traditional sense of the word- living. At least in the Shades people had a healthy dose of self-preservation. At least they would get out of the way if they saw an enraged werewolf charging at them, instead standing there with a puzzled expression, or looking round to see who was going to be mauled. The rich seemed to have the strange perspective that nothing bad could happen to them because they were important. Only poor people died of werewolf attack, because no one would stand for it in a high-class society such as their's. Unfortunately the world often altered itself around people such as these, simply because it took less time and effort to change rules of the universe than to change the viewpoint of one determined person with enough money to sustain them in their beliefs. It was amazing how agreeable people became when in the presence of a large amount of money.  
Angua scowled underneath the shadow of her helmet. If only to make things worse, she'd been assigned that bloody vampire-her lips twisted wryly at the aptness of her phrasing- as a had started to think this was Nobby having his revenge for her mentioning to Vimes about the mysterious way all the Watchmen's boots kept disappearing when they came in to be treated by Igor. She wouldn't have doubted he had bribed someone to fix the roster for him if it hadn't been Vimes on duty that morning. Vimes had known Nobby for longer than most were aware, and didn't feel the need to put up with his tricks.  
Angua felt a light touch on her shoulder, and immediately her hackles went up at the age-old racial prejudice. She whirled around, blond hair fanning out with its momentum. The elegant ebony form of the vampire broke into a fanged grin. Salicia, or Sally, as she preferred to be called, was a Black Ribboner, and sworn off blood for the rest of her immortal life, (and as Angua was occasionally inclined to slaughter innocent chickens, she couldn't really hold a grudge) but that didn't stop Angua from hating her with every fiber of her undead being. The feeling was mutual. They'd managed to avoid actually fighting claw and fang, after the recent Koom Valley incident, and they had even reached a state of wary respect, but that couldn't overwhelm years of genetic programming and interracial warfare. And of course, it was getting damn close to a full moon, and Angua was decidedly edgy about going out in public, especially in such fine company. Even in the harsh sun of high afternoon she could feel the cool touch of the moon, and suppressing the wolf was giving her a headache. Angua bared her even, white, human teeth in a snarl that belied her true nature and stalked on down the road, fantasizing about roast chicken and decapitated vampires.


	2. Chapter 2

The familiar acrid stink of the river Ankh in high summer permeated the soggy section of gutter that Vimes resided in, and half-heartedly assailed his nostrils, bludgeoning up his nasal cavity and through his skull in an effort to force him into semi-awareness. However, the fuzziness that currently dictated his dwindling consciousness overruled the urge to lever himself from his putrid resting place. This was aided somewhat by a belated discovery that the affectionately cradled bottle of Bearhugger's finest, was not, in fact, as empty as it had first appeared.

In his small, sparse quarters above the Puesdepollis Yard Watchhouse, a broad freckled hand twisted its polishing cloth absentmindedly. The building had been given to the Watch after the old station on Treacle Mine road had been blasted to bits by the dragon that had terrorized the city all those years back. Vimes hadn't exactly pleased by the upmarket area, but he hadn't been able to deny the usefulness of the extra space, especially with the new recruits that Ventinari had requested, (in that special way he had of requesting things that painted quiet pictures of scorpion pits and torture chambers,) and soon the place had become home. Captain Carrot still had his rooms there from when Vimes had asked that he move out of his previous lodgings with the kindly Mrs. Palm and all her wonderful daughters. Vimes had seemed a bit stiff when he found that out actually, and Nobby had practically choked. Carrot had wondered if it was because the family lived in the Shades, and had assured the men that they were very polite and friendly and surely not Criminal Elements. Nobby had doubled over at this point, but Vimes had just looked at Carrot strangely and said something odd about them being too friendly for Carrot's own good.  
The hand reached for the first of the carefully graded wire brushes, scouring away the day's sweat and dust and grime, proceeding through to the finest brush, then on to a soft buffing cloth, until the breastplate shone like a glowing bronze sun. Captain Carrot's armor was rumored to be the brightest in all Ankh-Morpork, though with the state of most of the city's metal, it couldn't be too hard. The other Watchmen speculated that the incessant shining was a side affect of his dwarf upbringing, (despite being six foot six, Carrot had been found abandoned in a forest in the mountains and was adopted by the local king. He had been raised in dwarf sized tunnels, and as a result had gained the affectionate nickname "head-banger" among his fellow miners.) and that he used strange mining oils to achieve the blinding glow. Those more familiar with him however, suspected it was just part of the sheer keenness that personified the Captain.

The reasons for, and the circumstances surrounding Commander Vimes' drunkenness were a mystery even to himself, and he had decided that if he was this thoroughly and systematically drunk, then he probably didn't want to find out what he had been trying to forget after all, because then he would have get drunk all over again, and he was wary of following that course of action because he was unsure just how drunk he could get before coming around in a circle and sobering up,which was something he wished to avoid. (Although the prospect of another bottle did have a certain charm.) Abandoning this as a potentially injurious train of thought, he raised his whiskey fueled voice in harmony with the rest of the drunks, who sat or sprawled in various stages of oblivion along the many similar gutters citywide.


	3. Chapter 3

Ponder Stibbons turned a peculiar shade of greenish yellow in the face of the raised eyebrow that was the only response from the Patrician. "And, Sir, we'll certainly have it fixed again soon Sir, definitely by next week Sir, nothing to worry about Sir, I have the students working as we speak Sir." Ponder trailed off, aware that he was running out of nails that went with his coffin's decor. Lord Vetinari gazed at the highly nervous wizard in front of him, possibly wondering whether a man could be any more uncertain of the promises he was making. "I have complete faith in your abilities, Ponder. I will assign someone to watch for your Clacks tonight, bearing news of the completed repairs." Ponder gulped as Vetinari proffered a whole shining cartload of nails in You're Doomed Black fresh from the forges of hell itself. The wizard bowed himself out hurriedly, attempting to hide the metaphorical hammer behind his back.

There was a careful knock at the door. Carrot didn't even look up. "Come in, Sargent." He called, knowing the identity of his visitor as the only man who would knock by pressing his ear to the door and breathing so loudly you could hear him even when Detritus was drilling recruits outside the window. Fred sidled in, wondering at his superior's X-ray vision, and fidgeted nervously with a dangling link of chain mail. He'd never really got used to being ranked by someone as young and green as Carrot, still thinking of him as the eager 16-year-old who had arrested the head of the Thieves Guild on his first day in the city. "What was it you wanted, Sargent Colon? Said Carrot, giving the incandescent metal a final buff. The chain mail spun faster and faster under Colon's sausage-like fingers. " Well lad, it was just that no one's seen the Commander all morning, since went to see the Patrician. And you know how he gets."  
Carrot turned sharply, dropping his tin of polish with a clang. "Didn't someone go as an escort?" He knew he was grasping at straws, Vimes had eschewed the idea from the moment it was formed, saying he was damned if he couldn't walk the streets of his own bloody city by himself. Carrot had of course organised patrols to tail him, but Vimes had the city's winding paths etched into his cynical heart, and could read the streets through the cardboard patched soles of his boots. Only a werewolf's nose could keep track of him on his home turf. "Is Angua out today? No, of course not. Send someone over to fetch her from Mrs Cake's will you?" Colon's digits practically blurred, and he stared at his feet as if willing them to take flight. "Weeell actually...she just went out. With the vampire. They're on the Scoone Avenue round."  
Carrot glanced at the moon chart on his desk, checking to see if he'd gotten the day wrong. But no, there was the date, and just two days later, one framed in a circle, the symbol for a full moon. His brow furrowed in confusion. "What? Which '_Bad'dhakz_ was on roster duty this morning? Did someone let Nobby near it again?"  
"Arrmm... Actually, Sam was looking at it this week."  
"Oh dear. Wasn't it Angua who got Nobby caught for stealing from the sick bay uniform cupboard? He must have gotten his hands on the rota book this morning. The Commander may have had ...other things on his mind."  
Colon took a deep breath, causing his breast-plate to wobble alarmingly on top of his jelly-like abdomen. "I'll send some men to fetch her then, shall I?" His causal words were betrayed by the anxious tremor in his voice. "No," said Carrot absent-mindedly, "I'll go myself, and we'll start from there. Sally will come in handy too, if she's not busy." He began to fasten his newly shone breastplate, and Fred Colon backed out nervously, already fiddling with the chain link again.


End file.
